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Shelby Oct 2011
The rabbit hole, I have jumped into is a long and dark one.. There is no light at the end, just an unknowing of who will catch me and when..

Love is treacherous, as is my heart. A never ending maze of locks and keys, one size fits all doesn't apply. I tore down your face as if it were nothing but a wall of vines, nothing more but a trail to climb. I saw the real you, your mask was gone.

I will never be happy in love, it isn't for me.. Nothing is, but it's a choice I have made. A choice which isn't refundable.. The ride has ran out of turns, my coins have disappeared.. No more turns on this carousel. Forever spinning wasn't forever like we'd planned.. Forever doesn't really last forever, nor does love. It will end, in it's own time.

Now what? What is there for me? There are no answers, no more questions, just a never ending epilogue to this unopened book.. The dust has been brushed away, the seems repaired but where are the words? Washed away by your white wash paint, a metaphor of your love. Our love, it's no longer printable. The ink isn't invisible, it just no longer stains the page. Scotch safe a book? Never. We just lost that special ink.

Rotting, decaying. Not really no, wandering down a path of blooming trees. Sure, life goes on. So does love, but not for me. I can't believe in something I can't feel...
Ken Pepiton Feb 15
-------- tea and Sisyphus

Bruno paused, at his interface
with the printable word form,

he paused thinking in writing
"this is so important, I must underline it."

I thought it, of first importance.

The concept of all fruits freely eaten from,
but one, knowledge, right of all sorts,
all species fruit, branch, root and leaf,
all intervvining chthonic molds to make soil,

goodgottamight jus' gimme a blackland farm.
let ol' pharoah done be drownded
goodgottamighty , oh yah,
jus' gimme a blackland farm.

Science, long now, sudden
eruptions of just too much to think about,

like the size of the Earth in his hands,
relative to the post JWST visualizations we share,

bring it in, too wide, ballein, throw out a thought,
an Earth baseball sized, no problema,
in your hand, your mind hand, your typist hand,
keyboarding second nature, like a callous
on the *******
of a scribes writer hand.

Often offered up as proof, see this finger,
this proves I wrote the whole pile crushed,
in the shipping and storage of Ashurbanipal's
collection of books, which Solomon told him,
when they were swapping wives and concubines,
was a vanity and a vexation of the spirit,

But this calloused finger, the mused mind reminds,
this finger proves I came through history,
I did not make history.
I remind myself one reader is plenty, keep things rolling up hill,
get to the top. Drop it, watch it roll, meander on down, at a peasant's pace.
Posing As Dystopian Rant

This prognosticator doth predict
potential based at current rate
sinister debacle that will
instantaneously annihilate,
which alarming (ohm my dog) turbulent
endemic chaotic spate

within human race poised to strike
doom and generate
shock tummy once amp pull goldenlocks,
now revealing a shiny baldpate
erratic behavior attendant prescient
intimations presage apocalyptic fate

while current commander in chief
didst unwittingly generate,
and sow the seeds of anarchy sparking
global conflagration that will create
instantaneous prime evil
total mortal kombat, cuz "FAKE" mandate

issued, when Trump went ballistic
loose sing rockets red glare,
when pressing hot button to demonstrate
thermonuclear supremacy,
sans 3D printable bomb
(albeit a moot point),

would render superfluous need way to late
to draft intestate
last (or perchance first, second,
third...) will and testament, tete a tete
perhaps minuscule (nee
infinitesimal) ordnance out of date

turns out a Department of Defense dud
eh, no surprise as aye narrate
finding Don tremendously irate
(blaming "crooked Hillary," democrats,
spongebobsquarepants,...yours truly...)
the list goes on, thus no need to iterate,

thus a sudden religious fervor gripped
the wide webbed world
attributing why weapons did not actuate,
which found pontiff in high demand

in an attempt to accommodate
frenzied zeal attributing aborted blitzkrieg
to divine intervention with bajillion
talking heads airing where to dedicate
material trappings to indigent, great
full not dead, plus those petty

criminals rightly or wrongly,
the strong arm of
lanced law did incarcerate
bowed down on daily and nightly basis
exploding huzzahs every
human did *******

"not prematurely," where
all walks of life integrate,
a spontaneous international
utopian revelation awoke
with linkedin diversity to promulgate
protecting the planet took precedence
yea right Matthew Scott - dear mate
only in the context of this poem I did create.
aestuosi pedes or perhaps pedes aestuosi:
whatever the order might be
it did bring me unto a rather favorite passage
of Cicero:

“He’s a slave.” But he may have the spirit of a free man. “He’s a slave.” But is that really to count against him? Show me a man who isn’t a slave; one is a slave to ***, another to money, another to ambition; all are slaves to hope or fear. I could show you a man who has been a Consul who is a slave to his “little old woman”, a millionaire who is the slave of a little girl in domestic service. I could show you some highly aristocratic young men who are utter slaves to stage artistes. And there’s no state of slavery more disgraceful than one which is self-imposed. So you needn’t allow yourself to be deterred by the snobbish people I’ve been talking about from showing good humour towards your slaves instead of adopting an attitude of arrogant superiority towards them. Have them respect you rather than fear you.

noted: for the sense of fluidity i discard
all above formality of Place or Name: sometimes
on a whim, yes, if prominent: either place or name -

and note that each new line is not bound to
paragraph (¶)
  pillow                             -                     crow

said to measure: expanse of - money, printable sap
of space of (a) page
                        and as such: a sobering ambition,
reflection, reminiscent of youth
and Nietzsche and: if anything equivalent to
Ecce **** can be printed
then this governed by the luxury of not printed...

on morality: as a prejudice?
that's not Nietzsche: not neat: cher:
chim-chimeney-chim-chimeney-chim-chimy-cherry
not him: me,

on morality: as prejudice...
since mortality is not ethics but an allusion
to ethics: morality is like fashion
is a sense of fashion
while ethics is simply the dignity of wearing
clothes or rather of wearing
protection
morality is how there is more to cloth
than simply keeping warm
the allusion to *** should summer come and
summer women...
who are not the women of winter
and how all that attire is exclusive
no, in summer a woman's attire becomes inclusive
or they say: it is warm enough
for the bees and the birds and
honey glazing of otherwise porcelain "anemic"...

larvae like see-through skin
you'd dare to look for a pulsating worm-like
structure resembling an *****.

or is there a subjective experience of having a heart?
i wonder
because the objectivity of heart on the basis
of pulse:
is there a subjective experience of the heart
like a heart is subjected to the clenching of the hand
to insinuated not so much
a fist to further insinuate violence but
a clenching of the hand to insinuate
a clenching of the heart a heart's pang of pain
not pain: real but pain metaphysical
                                                    ­  like love lost love loved
love as a chemistry, binding of two bodies
then unbinding like the need for two rings
of metal coupled...

                   quote:
"on this perfect day...
           i buried my four-and-fortieth year...
philosophy... hammers...
               now i'm going to tell myself
the story of my life"

                                  and that is curious,
or rather this is also how you experience a luxury
of writing should reading be exhausted
and by no far stretch of the imagination
this is a little vain a little sordid or at least there's
an aesthetic to the ascetic -
                                            which is hardly seen
but remains intact
                    perchance on the street outside
a train station three bums drinking wine basking
in the sunlight while everyone else busies
themselves (with themselves):

existential revisionist theory,
a soft beginning, inclined to the romance of Islam
maybe i've been working in the security
industry far too long with a multitude of
races, creeds and chocalatiers
since i believe i see that the future is biracial
at least a new Aztec Mecca
in the smoldering *** of hyped over hyped ***
i see the future as mixed-race
but i don't see the other necessary future
that is in me:

bilingual because it's not just enough
to break a few eggs
into the tease of horror-sexuality of the cis-woman
so much better than the early
sexuality of Bilie Eilish and now out for Lunch
bad guy bad guy
i'm finally making a girl cry
not the one crying not the broken idealist
of my years of 21 springs
now i finally found my wrecking ball
my Damian O
                        O the wheel and O i spin into
o o
o
o
o o
o o  o
o o
o o
             bubbles all not so like bubbles
but some sort of covert mathematics
like algebra but
not algebra because there are no hard-on
limp **** problems clearly defined
no this is more an algebra without letters
as letters or unknowns
with only 9/0 fold Truth
the avenue of awe while angels
stopped singing and instead started whispering
to me
the angels stopped singing
instead started whispering
into my mind's ear

if there is a mind's eye: i third party who and why

sobering thoughts burden me
when i drink two fire-milk whiskeys
and smoke a joint because
i microdose
i micro-dose
what i smoke if a sprinkle
in a giant bush of tobacco
rolled up rolled into a tight bun ***
oh the glutton over the intolerance
to the whey woah woe-ah like woe sulking
over a disco mummy dance
behind a mirror and all the ****
that's equivalent to the population
of octopii of the seas...

all she knew prior was no music
because she was collecting music
then sold the vinyl
melted it into linq:     liquidrice
liquorise... darker than spice
a bit like hash
Hashish Hasha...
         Ashar and the Bashar al-Qud

revel in the following telegraph:

CHRSTNTY XHSTD
exhausted
humanity
somehow
too much humanity
in a single man
existential revisionist
not secular dead end
all politics no myths
just newspapers
not fires and talk
and the one madman
Elijah to go into wilderness
for the voice of god
because humanity
somehow forgot and forgave
itself:
it started forgiving itself
for forgetting and making
upkeep a sort of last resort
of angles in the health
and safety rules at work

ergonomic sophistry
like i'm rhyming to the rhythm
of a song...
rhyme to rhythm of a song

RHYM' RHYTHM
i found the two gammas...
alpha male
beta male
and the gamma male
radioactive...
imitation of Rzeczpospolita
"too many consonants"
not enough vowel glue...

Riff - raff -Ryvm...
very velvet very not sleepy so borrowed
time on the touch of water
from behind a white glove...
no not helium filled surgical gloves
touching the waters of birth
waters of ***
waters of mouth
waters of oral
waters of constipated ***
and anti-birth
for the *** all pleasure
just gay dead ends no children
now my children not my children
all seem like children
and chills...
the waters of periods
moon skies and cycles
and buying plots of land
but not buying with words
like pennies by the simple math of
effort invested in, regardless of rewards
because

capitalism is anti-literacy with
the books it pushes all
autobiographies written by ghosts
of men
who excuse them reaching the heights
being dyslexic...
that's Muhammad the Prophet of WHWH
because is LLH to special for gay lord...

such is the extent of AI generated responses
it's like having a secret internet
that was not there prior
and that's me not even having dwelt among
the super cool gansta rot of the deep web
with all the human perversity
depravity and satan bound to happy-sad japan...

elsewhere the transition from Christianity
to Islam because the Hebrew cult is confusing
enough from how language is a study of the Torah
and how slang is not going to be anything
short of finishing that book
mind you currently on my list
of multi-tasking books
because i have taken the forbidden fruit
of an audiobook of the lord of the rings: the fellowship

but i'm gathering history in books
i can't just overlook, forget,
a labyrinth alley of forest dried and smoked
books, list:

knausgaard's vol 6 of mein kampf
frank herbert's dune
olson's the maximus poems
zhuangzi's writings
the master and margarita in german....

i have all these books started:
problem being
like someone i heard say
about Dickens' the Pickwick Papers...
oh yes...
that's another book on my list...
like this person said
to entice...
the problem with the Pickwick Papers
as a book...
is to have finished reading it...

thus i pledged: start reading as many books
and leave them unread
or rather keep them...
eternity is going to be a long flight
of the citizens of nothing toward god
so it's going to be boring and painful
so i need reading material
and the forthcoming book on my list of books
started but not finished is...

mad enough to spend £47.55 for a book
of 420 pages...
meadows of gold and mines of germs
by al-Masudi...

just because he was an ummi (mommy's boy)
doesn't mean that in some trance
he started scribbling, Muhammad...
anyone can take complications of a man
and attire them to self then somehow
exfoliate counter to the narrative of the supposed
clues to cues for life...
but i will not transcript the answer of the AI
(chatGPT is like the internet as an app
since i predominantly used the internet
to search, regardless of music i want to listen to
best advertised
but search engine for answers
like skimreading like a skinny late
like a skinny girl no **** no ***
so i mean like Google 2.0 that's chatGPT):

see the poem Q.

— The End —